


Dear Rob

by MissyTheLeast



Series: Dear Rob AU! [1]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied Relationships, Mention of Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyTheLeast/pseuds/MissyTheLeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend wants to see the former Colonel one more time. Passing mention of character death. Deep feelings, but you decide.  First story of my Dear Rob AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bound Brook, New Jersey, USA  
13 December, 1969

Dear Rob:

I have started this letter many many times; started and discarded, unable to make a good beginning. It is to the point that I cannot even decide how to greet you. Do I remain formal, as expected by your superiors, and say 'Dear General Hogan'? Do I forget your new rank in favor of your old one? Do I forget myself entirely, and say, 'My dearest Rob, my Blue Angel, Guten Morgen'?

Well, as you can see, I have at least made a start. And since the first two words were so difficult, you can imagine that the rest does not come easy.

Because you know how my luck runs: it is all poor, and the only good luck, the best luck of all in my entire life, was you. 

So with your luck, you shall get this in time for us to say good-bye, or at least, for me in this letter to tell you farewell. With my 'luck' you shall never get this at all and the mail truck will fall into the Hudson River on its way to Westchester.

For this is good-bye; not because I wish it! No, since you taught me how to live, I have never wished my life away. But will or won't, my life here is now at an end.

Rob, I have Cancer. I have only a few weeks left, and again, with my luck, you are away on an important mission and cannot be reached, not even by Kinch (and it still amazes me that he allows me to call him that) or Hilda. And if a man cannot be reached by his second-in-command or his wife, then you are assuredly in great danger! Yet, I have no fear for your safety. You have passed through fire, not once, but many times, unscathed. I cannot think that your luck will abandon you now, and I am certain that you will return home, mission accomplished, not worse for the wear. No, my only fear is that this may be my last chance to see you, ever.

For no matter your many attempts to reassure me, I fear Death, for I fear that ultimate separation from you. I fear that without you before the throne and the Gates, I will panic as I always do, and when St. Peter begins to examine my “record” I will start to blather: “My record is perfect your Holiness, there has never been an escape from Stalag 13!” As if anything to do with the Third Reich is a thing of pride! 

Perhaps it will not be so bad; if there is mercy anywhere, it is in Heaven. And Heaven knows how I feel, how sorry I am that I was too stupid, too cowardly to do more. Thank God you were able to do something with a lump like me! Still, your life would have been so much simpler, so much less dangerous, if you could have trusted me, if I could have worked with you from the start! But I know you too well, my Rob. You enjoy the chase, the challenge, the complexity. Why do something simply, when you can make a 'Rube Goldberg'* out of it? And trying to work around me, under me, through me? You enjoyed it far more than you should have, and far more than you let on. I know this!

And speaking of mercy, it is a mercy that your friends have become mine; I will not die alone. Both Hilda and Gretchen wished me to stay in Westchester, but with your children so young and Gretchen still grieving Schultz' passing, I was unwilling to burden them. Lebeau, Newkirk and Kinch all offered their homes to me, but the doctors will not allow me to travel so far. Andrew did not wish to be least or last, and when his Betty reminded everyone that she was a nurse (and with only one teenager in the house, she was looking for something to do), it seemed the perfect solution. So here I am in New Jersey, under the best of care. Except for you, I want for nothing, so I am content.

I am content; but still I long to see you once again. I am certain that you feel this need too, and you would be sad if we could not see each other one more time. So I will wait, wait as long as it can be managed, and trust in your luck to see us both through the darkness and the loss.

I will send this letter (along with my Will and my memoirs – or bluntly, the letters that I wrote to you but failed to send) to Westchester, and not to the debriefing station in Washington. You were never one for unnecessary bureaucracy, and this close to Christmas, you will want to be home as soon as possible, and as a General, you can give your own orders.

I will send this letter in hope. Please come home, my Rob. Come home to me, to all of us, safe, and I will die happy.

Yours,

Wili 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	2. Epilogue

Christmas Eve, 1969  
Bound Brook, New Jersey, USA

 

It was going on 11 pm, and as the man of the house was doing the rounds making all secure, he heard a knocking at the door.

Andrew Carter knew that knock, that code...he knew who was seeking entry at this late hour, and he flew to answer the door.

On the threshold was a tall dark haired man, pacing with impatience. 

"Boy, oh boy! Sir, am I glad to see you!" Carter yelped, as he drew his former commander simultaneously into an embrace and the warm foyer. 

"He's right upstairs, in the spare room at the back of the house", his host continued, helping his old friend out of his coat, walking and talking a mile a minute, "poor guy, keeps thinking that he's being a bother, but he's no bother at all, I mean he's dy- I mean he's so si- I mean he gets tired real easy, but he's always finding ways to help out, gee, he even addressed all our Christmas cards..."

"Thanks Andrew," said Hogan as they reached the last bedroom, "I can take it from here."

"Hang on, boy, I mean Sir, I mean wait a sec Rob, don't want to spook him, sometimes he dreams real loud." With that, before Rob could say anything, Andrew knocked and in his best Schultz impression, he said: "Herr Kommandant! Colonel Hogan is here to see you, as rrreee-quest-ted!"

A voice quavered: "Schultz, send him in." And Carter opened the door, and Hogan had his first look at his old Kommandant in two years...sallow skin wrinkled like parchment; thin bird-like body (all bone, no flesh); worst of all, three angry red bumps, tumors the size of robin's eggs, clustered over his brow near the crown of his head.

An instant of shock, then Rob's instincts kicked in - affecting his Senior POW mien, Hogan sported his most roguish smile, snapped off a sloppy salute, and said in his jauntiest voice: "You wanted to see me, Kommandant?"

"Yes, yes." A smile brought back some color to his face, as the old Colonel returned the salute and mock sternly, continued the sally: "Hogan! I have been hearing rumors again! Now they say that you are digging tunnels in the jungle. What can you be thinking? How silly of you! Ho-O-gan, have you forgotten? There has never been an escape from Stalag 13!"

It took three tries before Rob could reply: "You're absolutely right Sir; what was I thinking? I can never fool you, the Iron Eagle," and the younger man's smile faded, as he came closer to the sickbed and sat at Klink's bedside, silently taking the dying man's hand. 

Neither man looked as Andrew quietly backed out of the room. 

As the door closed, it could not quite block out a sob:

"Oh, Rob!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The disclaimer – Not me, don't own the characters, everything belongs to Bing Crosby Productions and CBS and I'm not making money on a thing...
> 
> This is the end of this tale, but only the beginning of my AU - Comments welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: *A 'Rube Goldberg' is any overly complex and complicated machine, made of bits and pieces of odds and ends, designed to perform a simple task in the most awkward way.


End file.
